


City of 1000 Emeralds

by EvieFuller



Series: Half-Baked Ideas. [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dark Harry Potter, Female Harry Potter, Necromancer Harry Potter, attempted exorcism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 02:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14392431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieFuller/pseuds/EvieFuller
Summary: In one dimension, the Dark Lord is brought low by a baby who disappears without a trace. In another, a little girl is found abandoned on the doorstep of Wool’s Orphanage on a chilly Halloween night in 1927.





	1. The Orphanage

**Author's Note:**

> There is a depiction of an exorcism in this chapter. It is an unsanctioned exorcism, and the priest does get violent. Also, in another scene there is a brief portrayal of attempted pedophilia. If you cannot tell from this note, Tom and Esmeralda do not have a happy childhood. Fair warning.

"Lily, take Harriet and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" James Potter shouted out to his wife, scrambling to find his wand. 

The door to the living room exploded off its hinges, and James turned from his position near the stairs to see the terrifying snake like visage of the Dark Lord cast against a background of light blue wallpaper and animated family photos. It was the last thing the young father ever saw.

"Avada Kedavra!" With a flash of poison green light, Voldemort cut James down. Stepping over his dead opponent, the Dark Lord paused only long enough to mutter a soft "Pity" at the corpse before proceeding to ascend the staircase. 

Once he reached the second floor landing, he moved to stop before the closed nursery door, listening as Lily Potter desperately attempted to barricade herself and her daughter in the room. The woman was trapped. The little cottage had only one entrance, which he had blasted apart when he broke in, and the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards kept the young witch from fleeing with her child magically. Pathetic, really, to be so unprepared, to have trusted their safety so completely in their Judas of a friend. 

"Harriet," he heard her choked voice whispering to her daughter. "Hari, you are loved. You are so loved. Hari, Mama loves you. Dada loves you. Hari, be safe. Be strong." The Dark Lord sneered and sent a bombarda at the door, shattering splinters of wood into the room. Lily Potter whipped around, wandless, and spread her arms in a fruitless shielding gesture before the crib. 

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now," Voldemort hissed, keeping his wand trained on the red haired woman. 

But Lily Potter didn’t move. Instead, she tearfully stood her ground and begged, "Not Hari, please no, take me, kill me instead!"

"Stand aside!" Voldemort reiterated more forcefully, hefting his wand and allowing the tip to glow green with intent. 

"Not Hari! Please…have mercy…have mercy," she continued to plead, unmoving, and with a mental shrug the Dark Lord forewent his promise to his spy and cast the killing curse for the second time that night. 

Lily Potter crumpled to the ground, red hair fanned around her still face like blood, and finally Voldemort laid eyes on his true target. The one-year-old was a beautiful child, with soft raven curls and the most arresting pair of emerald eyes the Dark Lord had ever seen, and all things considered, he thought briefly that it was a shame she had to die. That tiny regret was quickly overshadowed by triumph, however, as the powerful wizard raised his wand to strike down his supposed vanquisher. After tonight, he would be truly immortal, invincible!

With a high, cold laugh of glee, Voldemort shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" and everything went horribly, terrifyingly wrong for the dark wizard. The poison green spell hit the girl high on her forehead near her left temple, but rather than kill the baby instantly as it had for every other person in history, the curse instead connected the two beings for a long, agonizing moment, tearing at the Dark Lord’s fragile soul.

With an unholy yank, Voldemort’s soul was ripped from his body and flung far away. But not all of his spirit was able to escape, and a small sliver, barely a fraction of a fraction, remained behind and followed the fading connection back to the child. And the baby’s soul, still young and malleable, embraced the fragment with open arms, merging the splinter with the infant’s greater whole, and Tom Riddle’s soul found a home at last.

As soon as the merging was complete, the power in the room, which had been steadily expanding around the little girl, collapsed inward, ripping a hole in the fabric of the universe and pushing the baby tumbling into another dimension. 

She landed with a cry on the dreary steps of Wool’s Orphanage late in the evening of Halloween night, 1927. It was not long before her pained screaming brought the matrons running to the door, where they were shocked to find a bleeding babe sitting on the doorstep, dressed only in a pale pink onesie that was not even remotely suited for the chilly October weather.

"Oh the poor dear!" Martha, the youngest new matron, exclaimed, picking the freshly orphaned child up and dabbing at the lightning bolt shaped cut positioned high on the girl’s forehead, near her temple. 

"Anotha’ one abandoned a’ our door?" Mrs. Cole, the head matron and a not-so-closeted alcoholic, grumbled. "It go’a name on it anywhere?"

Martha looked over the baby before checking the steps, but there was no indication of the child’s identity anywhere to be found. 

"Humph," Mrs. Cole scowled. "It’s Sain’ Bega an’ Sain’ Wolfgang’s festival days. Choose one for a las’ name an’ I’ll le’ ye pick its firs’ name. Ye can go pu’ it in the nursery wi’ Tom. An’ make it stop cryin’!"

Martha shushed the baby gently as Mrs. Cole shuffled away, staring into mesmerizing watery emerald orbs. "I think I’ll call you…Esmeralda. For your eyes," Martha murmured. "Esmeralda Bega Wolfgang, so you can have a proper middle name too." 

Martha entered the nursery and moved to stand before the single crib where another beautiful child sat, this one a one-year-old baby boy with piercing brown eyes which in the right light could look creepily red tinged. The boy unnerved all of the matrons, but the second the newest orphan laid eyes on him her heretofore unceasing tears petered off. 

"Tom? This is Esmeralda. She’s going to be staying with you now." The two children stared at each other for a long moment before Tom reached out and wrapped his chubby fingers around Esmeralda’s bare foot and tugged, a wide smile spreading across his angelic face. It was the first time Martha had ever seen the baby boy look happy.

"There, see?" Martha cooed as she lowered the little girl into the crib, besotted by the adorable picture Tom made as he latched on to his new crib-mate in a possessive hug. "You’re the same age, I think. Why don’t we wish your new friend a happy birthday Mr. Tom?" Martha continued to prattle on inanely, but the two infants didn’t spare her any attention, too absorbed with making faces at one another. 

From this night forward, the duo would be inseparable. This was largely thanks to the violent temper tantrums Tom tended to throw whenever anyone so much as seemed to hint at separating him from his person. After that one time every light in the room shattered when one of the matrons tried to remove Esmeralda from his side, nobody dared to attempt to get between the kids again. 

§§§§§

Tom stood outside the school building waiting for his only friend to come out, nervously rubbing at his chest. He hated more than ever now their separation during classes. A little less than a month ago, Mrs. Cole had brought the priest in to attempt another exorcism on him and Esmeralda. It was the third attempt, once each year since they were seven like clockwork, but this one had been so much worse. 

The first time hadn’t been so bad, really. It had been confusing and admittedly frightening to be held down and splashed with holy water while the clergyman shouted for the demon to depart, and he and Esmeralda had been shaken by the experience. But they weren’t traumatized or anything. 

The second time had added some mild slapping to the mix, and it had absolutely infuriated Tom that those cretins had dared to raise a hand against his Esmeralda. Afterwards, the two young orphans had been determined to avoid a third experience, going out of their way to ensure that no one caught them whispering to the snakes or practicing with their gift. But again, they were decidedly not traumatized. They were just angry. 

But this last time. Tom shuddered as the images flashed through his mind. 

"Are ye sure it’ll work this time Father?" Mrs. Cole had hissed at the priest as Tom and Esmeralda were dragged before the alter by several members of the church. There were probably twelve adults in the room, Mrs. Cole, Father Masterson, and ten other concerned church goers, all crowded around the two nine-year-olds. 

"We will have to be more aggressive this time, I am afraid," he had replied. "These two, they are truly touched by the Devil, but I am confident, God willing, that we can drive Him out."

With a nod from the preacher, two of the men had hauled Tom onto the alter and forced him to lay on his back while another had moved to wrap a restraining arm around a blank faced Esmeralda. Tom had only struggled briefly when his captors started unbuttoning his shirt, but a hard smack to his stomach had stilled his movements, reminding him of his and Esmeralda’s plan.

They had thought taking the abuse calmly without fighting back might finally convince the priest and Mrs. Cole that they weren’t possessed. If they could just grin and bear it, maybe they would never be forced to undergo another exorcism. Tom’s conviction had fled quickly when Esmeralda had suddenly called out, voice high and frightened. 

"What are you doing? Stop!"

Tom had lifted his head, breaking his resolute examination of the vaulted ceiling, to see the priest moving towards him with a red hot, glowing cross approximately the size of a key. Tom had jerked back, desperately trying to escape the hold of the church members, but they each had had over a hundred pounds on him, and all his strength had only resulted in fruitless wriggling. 

"Begone Satan! In the name of the Father," Father Masterson had intoned, and someone had poured a large cup of water over the dark haired boy’s front. Distantly, over the sound of his own panicked heartbeat, Tom had still been able to hear Esmeralda begging for them to stop. 

"And of the Son," another large splash of water had spilled over his face, causing Tom to choke and cough violently.

"And of the Holy Spirit!" With those final words, the priest had thrust the branding iron against Tom’s damp chest, directly over his heart, wrenching an animalistic scream of pure agony from Tom’s throat. Burning, searing pain. For several long moments, that horrible sensation had encompassed his entire consciousness. 

When alertness had finally returned, Tom had become aware of all the shouting coming from the adults around him, which had seemed odd since he was the one who had just been branded with a religious symbol, and he’d rolled his head listlessly to the side to see what was happening. 

Adrenaline had shot through him then as he’d beheld his best friend attacking the priest like an avenging angel. Somehow, Esmeralda had broken free of her captor and managed to knock Father Masterson to the ground, one of her hands wrapped around the fist still grasping the branding iron, her other hand raining punches down on the priest’s face and chest.

"You monster! You monster! You’re evil! The Devil’s in you! He’s in you! Not Tom!" The other adults had tried to grab at the furious girl, but every time they had gotten close, they had been rebuffed, an invisible force pushing them back. 

Tom had recognized her gift at work and had leapt from the alter to drag her away, making their escape while her gift was still acting to keep them safe. One of the men had tried to intercept them, but Tom had flung his power out in an uncontrolled burst, and the heavyset adult had been sent flying into the wooden pews. 

"My arm! I can’t feel my arm!" Tom had heard Father Masterson shout out just as they bolted through the church doors. The two children had sprinted straight back to Wool’s Orphanage hand-in-hand, gathered their meager possessions from their room, and fled to the small copse of trees behind the boarding house. There they had waited with baited breath for men with pitchforks to show up at the gates, but after several hours, Mrs. Cole had come back alone. 

When they had finally gone back into the orphanage the next morning, Mrs. Cole hadn’t said a word to them. She’d just stared at them with eyes that were filled with fear and hate and the kind of terrified awe someone might give to a giant snake. 

Since that morning, the two nine-year-olds had been convinced that Mrs. Cole was going to attempt to murder them, and they’d been more glued to each other’s sides than ever. Their paranoia even pushed them to take turns keeping watch during the night.

Hence Tom’s current state of anxiety. If Esmeralda didn’t exit the school in the next five minutes, Tom was going in after her. After all, it wasn’t just Mrs. Cole that was probably plotting to kill them. 

It turned out that Father Masterson had lost his arm after the botched exorcism. As Tom had heard him shout, the priest had not been able to feel his arm, and the church members had rushed him to the hospital. But it had been too late for Father Masterson’s limb. The arm had just been dead. From midway up his tricep down through the tips of his fingers, the cells in the appendage had been lifeless. Rigor mortis had set in and everything apparently, and the doctors had had to remove the arm for fear of sepsis and gangrene. 

Whatever Esmeralda had managed to do, it had resulted in the priest having a stump for an arm, and Tom was viciously pleased with the result. It was poetic justice at its finest, Tom thought. The self-righteous Father Masterson had maimed Tom, so Esmeralda had maimed Father Masterson. 

Tom fingered the pretty emerald necklace he’d stolen for his friend as a thank you gift when they’d ventured into Kensington this last weekend. It was a simple piece of jewelry, just a single dark, teardrop shaped emerald on a delicate silver chain, but he knew it would look lovely adorning his friends throat. It matched her eyes. One day, he’d make sure he had enough that he could see her dressed head to toe in the sparkling gemstones.

He’d give the necklace to her today, to celebrate the passing of one full month since the horrid exorcism. At least he would if she would exit the building already. He glanced at his watch, a battered bronze thing that he’d filched off of Billy Stubbs while the boy was crying over his dead rabbit a few months ago. It had only been three and a half minutes, but Tom was tired of waiting. 

Rubbing absently over the branded section of his chest, Tom entered the school and headed in the direction of Esmeralda’s classroom. Then, suddenly, a wave of fury and panic not his own washed over him, and Tom broke into a sprint. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, when their emotions ran especially high, Tom and Esmeralda seemed to share an empathic link, a byproduct of their gift he supposed, and right now the green eyed girl was radiating a powerful sense of wrong.  
Girls like Esmeralda, pretty little things with no reliable adult to turn to, were usually ideal targets for predators like Mr. Jeffries. But if there was one thing Esmeralda would never be, it was prey. She and Tom were in complete agreement about their status. Namely, that the two of them were special, better than all of the weak vermin they were surrounded with everyday. They were above all these people. The two of them had power. So no disgusting, balding, greasy old man was going to touch her. 

It had seemed to start innocently enough. Mr. Jeffries would praise her, tell her she was smart, tell her she was pretty, and Esmeralda enjoyed the compliments. Then after class today, her teacher had asked her to stay behind. The raven haired girl had been reluctant as she knew that Tom would get antsy if she was even thirty seconds late to their meeting spot, but she’d complied with the request. 

Mr. Jeffries had pulled out her homework and gestured for her to come around to his side of the desk, and Esmeralda hadn’t hesitated. But then he’d leaned over her, still offering compliments, but she had started to feel uncomfortable at his proximity, pressed almost flush against her back. When the tips of his fingers started to run up her leg and disappear underneath the hem of her skirt, she started to panic.

Esmeralda had heard about men like this. Old men who liked to touch little boys and girls. It was a very bad thing. So bad that Mrs. Cole, who firmly believed Esmeralda had the Devil in her, said she refused to taint the emerald eyed girl by talking about it. 

Esmeralda tried to pull away from Mr. Jeffries, but her teacher had her trapped against his desk. Her fear surged as she felt his hand brush against a place she knew he was not supposed to be touching, and that dark power, the kind she had only ever felt once before when she had attacked Father Masterson after he branded Tom, rose to the surface of her skin. 

This energy wasn’t like her normal gift. Her gift was what she used to make things float, the only ability other than snake whispering that she had complete control over. Her gift had once turned one of her teacher’s hair blue when she was irritated with the annoying woman. And on another occasion, it had transported her to the school rooftop to help her escape some bullies who were chasing her. Tom could use his gift to hurt people who were mean to them, and sometimes he ordered people to do things and they went all glassy eyed before complying. But this power, it wasn’t like any of that. This power tasted like death.

Father Masterson had lost his arm the last time this energy appeared to protect her. Mr. Jeffries should lose his hand. She wanted his sweaty paw to die, so he could never even think about using it to touch her again. She wanted it to perish. She wanted him to perish. 

"What the bloody fuck!" Esmeralda twisted just in time to see sickly white veins rapidly snake up her molester’s ruddy neck before he seized up and collapsed to the floor, by all appearances dead. 

Barely five seconds later, Tom came bursting through the door. He took one look at her expression and strode across the floor to cup her cheek in a comforting gesture, hardly sparing a glance for the man lying on the ground. "Are you alright?"

"I…I think he’s dead," she croaked, shock and receding fear numbing her responsiveness. 

Tom dismissed the motionless form slumped at their feet and focussed on the more important question. "What did he do to you?" he inquired, ice lacing his voice, and Esmeralda couldn’t help the slight smile that graced her lips at Tom’s protectiveness. 

"He…He touched me. Like we were always warned about. Those men who like to touch kids," she rasped faintly, almost unable to believe that such a thing had just happened to her. "I didn’t want him to touch me!" she exclaimed, suddenly desperate to make that fact clear. "I tried to get away, but he had me trapped against the desk!"

"Of course you didn’t want him to touch you. He’s not even worthy enough to kiss your feet," Tom responded with complete confidence, and the unnamed worry tightening her chest released. 

"I felt so helpless," she confessed.

"You killed him? Like you killed Father M-Masterson’s arm?" he questioned, stumbling only slightly over the exorcist’s name. At her nod, Tom gave a shark-like smile, a haughty tilt lifting his head. "Then you’ll never be helpless, not with power like that. We’re better than all this weak scum," he declared with his typical arrogance, and she smiled, finding security in his familiar words.

"You don’t think it’s evil? That I really do have the Devil in me, to have a power that kills people?" she asked worriedly. 

"Even if you do, at least you have power. That’s all that matters," Tom answered surely. At her slightly skeptical look, he insisted, "Why should it matter where it comes from? It’s our power, and it’s a gift. It makes us better." These final words did the trick, soothing Esmeralda’s momentary doubt. 

"We should get out of here," she whispered, stepping back from Tom’s comforting hug, "before anyone notices we’re in here with a dead body." 

He nodded sharply and moved to glance out into the hallway. "It’s clear," he murmured, and they slipped quietly out the door, hurrying to escape the scene of the crime. The death wouldn’t actually be discovered until the following morning when the first students trickled into the room and spotted the stiff body. It would end up causing quite the scandal. Those poor, horribly scarred children who found a dead teacher lying behind his desk. 

Once he and Esmeralda had safely reached the halfway mark on their trek back to the orphanage, Tom tugged her to a stop and reached into his pocket. "I was going to give this to you when class let out," he murmured, holding out the emerald pendant necklace, "as a thank you for killing the Father’s arm."

"Oh," she breathed, clearly enchanted, "it’s beautiful Tom."

"It matches your eyes," he boasted smugly and gestured for her to turn around so he could put it on her.

Esmeralda fingered the gem hanging below the hollow of her throat, a pleased light dancing in her eyes. "Wherever did you get it?"

"I lifted it from that jewelry store by Kensington Gardens that you always look at the window displays for," he boasted, proud of his accomplishment.

"How did you even get in?" she wondered. "Let alone make off with something this beautiful!" Managers of high-end stores were not exactly known for their tolerance of poorly dressed orphan children. 

His only response was a self-satisfied smirk before he turned and started walking towards Wool’s again, a bounce in his step.


	2. The Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue between Dumbledore, Tom, and Esmeralda at the orphanage borrows heavily from the books.

Tom and Esmeralda sat side-by-side propped against the peeling grey wall of their closet-sized room. Tom was quietly reciting Wordsworth to her from their library book of the week, and the emerald eyed girl was basking in the comfortable peace.

The two eleven-year-olds had shared this tiny space, with its prison-barred window and single bed, since they’d been moved from the nursery shortly before Tom’s third birthday. Esmeralda didn’t anticipate Mrs. Cole granting them better sleeping arrangements anytime soon, but she couldn’t say that she minded. During the winter months, shared body heat was probably the only thing that kept them from freezing to death under their thin, moth-eaten sheet. At this point, Esmeralda wasn’t sure she would even be able to fall asleep at all if she was forced to go to bed alone. 

A hesitant knock interrupted their moment, and both children tensed. Mrs. Cole mostly left them alone nowadays, though they were fairly sure she had tried to poison them at least twice. After Father Masterson had lost his arm in the exorcism when they were nine, all of the adults who had been determined to rid them of the "Devil" had backed off, too frightened to attack them directly, but it was only a matter of time before someone got up enough courage to try something again. 

The door opened and Mrs. Cole’s head popped around the frame. "Tom? Esmeralda? You’ve got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton—sorry, Dunderbore. He’s come to tell ye — well, I’ll le’ 'im do it."

A lanky man who looked to be in his forties with thick auburn hair and a long beard entered the room then, and Mrs. Cole snapped the door shut behind him and hurried away. The man was dressed in a bright purple three piece suit, and he had half-moon spectacles perched on his long, crooked nose. Eccentric, Esmeralda thought. 

"How do you do, Tom? Esmeralda?"he said and held out his hand.

Tom hesitated briefly before accepting the handshake, and Esmeralda followed his example right after, trying not to let on how unnerved she was by this man’s piercing blue eyes. She was distrustful of people in general, but she especially disliked when men looked at her.

The man drew the little three legged stool from the corner of the room over to sit down in front of them. He patted his beard, looking back and forth between the two orphans for a weighted moment, before he introduced himself. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" Esmeralda repeated, cautious. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at us?" She pointed towards the door where Mrs. Cole had recently stood.

"No, no," Dumbledore smiled.

"I don’t believe you. She wants us looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!" Tom infused the last statement with his gift in the way he knew would produce immediate obedience.

Dumbledore, however, didn’t respond right. Instead, he just continued to sit on the wobbly little stool and smile, completely unperturbed. 

"Who are you?" Esmeralda asked fearfully. 

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore. I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like to come."

So this was it then? This was their play? No, Tom wouldn’t stand for it. He leapt from the bed, dragging Esmeralda with him and positioning himself in front of her as he backed away from the auburn haired man. 

"You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? 'Professor,' yes of course — well, we’re not going, see? That old bat’s the one who should be in the asylum. We never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!"

Tom carefully didn’t mention Father Masterson or anybody else he thought might have been more inclined to blab to the 'Professor,' choosing instead to focus on two of their more spineless tormentors who they had gotten revenge on during a trip to the beach just a few months back. 

"I am not from the asylum," Dumbledore assured patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —"

"I’d like to see them try," Tom sneered, Esmeralda glaring strongly in support. 

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore carried on as though Tom had not spoken, "is a school for people with special abilities —"

"We’re not mad!" Esmeralda burst out.

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

The two orphans froze. "Magic," Tom breathed. "It’s…it’s magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," Tom said, suddenly enthusiastic. Esmeralda squeezed his hand in warning, but her friend, ever one for the lime light, ignored her caution and proudly boasted, "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." 

Tom stumbled to sit back down on the bed, staring at his hands in a new light. "I knew I was different," he whispered. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Tom intently. "You are a wizard. And you, Ms.Wolfgang, are a witch."

Esmeralda had remained in the corner, silently watching the exchange, and she didn’t care for the way the professor was looking at Tom. It reminded her all too heavily of Father Masterson. Like this Dumbledore thought there was something wrong with Tom. 

"Are you a wizard too?" she asked, hoping to take the attention away from Tom.

"Yes, I am," Dumbledore responded, but he had barely begun to turn in her direction before Tom stole his focus again.

"Prove it," he commanded, again infusing his words with magic despite the failure to influence Dumbledore only minutes earlier. 

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts—"

"Of course I am! We both are!" Esmeralda quietly despaired, but she didn’t contradict her best friend. Tom wasn’t any more trusting of people than Esmeralda, not really, but his pride truly would be the death of them both, at least if her curiosity didn’t get them killed first. Tell the boy he was a wizard, and he just couldn’t help but to latch on to the image of himself in such a powerful role. 

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'"

Tom’s face blanked, and when he spoke it was in the polite tone usually reserved for the bobbies who had pegged them as pickpockets. "I’m sorry, sir. I meant—please, Professor, could you show me—?"

Esmeralda was sure Dumbledore was about to refuse and prove himself a liar, but to her great surprise, he pulled a smooth stick from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at their shabby wardrobe in the corner, and promptly set the piece of furniture on fire. 

Tom jumped to his feet, and Esmeralda rushed forward, both howling in rage, but even as they rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. 

Tom recovered quicker than Esmeralda, desire pushing back his helpless anger, and he pointed at what was obviously a magic wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time," Dumbledore said. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

The two orphans looked towards the shabby armoire, noticing the faint rattling that could be heard from inside it. Tom’s face paled, for the first time feeling afraid of the man in front of him. How did Dumbledore know about his trophies? Did he know about the other things they had done? Could he?

"Open the door," Dumbledore quietly commanded. 

Tom only hesitated for a second before moving to comply, removing the quaking box. 

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?"

Tom admitted that there was, spilling the contents on the bed when the professor instructed him to. Brian Harding’s yo-yo, taken after the older boy had destroyed Tom’s history project. The silver thimble of Amanda King’s mother, taken after the other orphan had mockingly told Esmeralda that at least her parents had loved her, that they would never have left her out in the cold to die. And David Dimely’s tarnished mouth organ, taken after the rotund boy had led his pack of bullies in a game of "Freak Hunting." These were all seemingly ordinary objects, but they were all proof that the two magical orphans had won. 

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. Esmeralda fingered the emerald pendant at her neck discreetly, glad none of Tom’s gifts to her had been in that box. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts." 

"But you’re fine with burning other people’s things," Esmeralda snarked, unable to keep quiet and hide her distaste for the eccentric teacher any longer. 

"Your things are quite unharmed, I assure you." Small crinkles appeared at the corner’s of Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes, and his lips twitched as though he was trying to contain a mischievous smile, like setting their wardrobe on fire was just some winsome joke. "At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have—inadvertently, I am sure—been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic—yes, there is a Ministry—will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes sir," both eleven-year-olds responded obediently, blank faced. 

Tom put their stolen trinkets back into the cardboard box before turning back to Dumbledore and saying boldly, "We haven’t got any money." 

"That is easily remedied," Dumbledore said, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but—" 

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Esmeralda asked curiously as Tom snatched the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore and began examining a fat gold coin. He wondered how much the coin was worth in the Wizarding World. Judging by how many gold pieces were in the pouch, the coins had to be worth more in non-magic society. Tom had once overheard some fancy bankers he and Esmeralda had planned to pickpocket talking about trading in currencies, taking advantage of exchange rates. Tom speculated they could pawn some of this wizarding money for a large profit. 

"You can buy your supplies in Diagon Alley," Dumbledore answered Esmeralda’s question. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything—"

"You’re coming with us?" Esmeralda asked, stumped. No one had bothered to escort them anywhere in years. 

"Certainly, if you—"

"We don’t need you," Tom interjected. There was no way he was allowing this man, who had so clearly taken a stance against him and Esmeralda, to introduce them to the magical world. "We’re used to doing things for ourselves. We go 'round London on our own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley…sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore’s eye.

Esmeralda thought that Dumbledore would insist on accompanying them, but she was surprised. The professor handed Tom two envelopes containing their lists of equipment, and after telling them exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from Wool’s, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you—non-magical people, that is—will not. As for Tom the barman—easy enough to remember, as he shares your name—"

Dumbledore clearly spotted Tom’s irritation as he questioned, "You dislike the name 'Tom'?" 

"There are a lot of Toms," he muttered in response. It had always been a sore point for the boy. The only person he didn’t mind calling him 'Tom' was Esmeralda, but she knew him. Unable to hold in the question, Tom burst out, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they’ve told me."

Esmeralda watched Dumbledore intently, curious to know if he would have any answers for her best friend. She wished she had enough background to ask questions about her family too, but she didn’t even have a name to go off of. 

"I’m afraid I don’t know," Dumbledore answered with a gentle voice.

"My mother can’t have been magic, or she wouldn’t have died," said Tom, mostly to himself. Esmeralda quietly thought it was equally possible she just hadn’t cared to live. Her parents had left her bleeding out in the cold to die. Maybe Tom’s mother had figured she had done her part by at least getting him inside. 

"It must’ve been him," Tom continued. "So—when we’ve got all our stuff—when do we come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope. You will leave from King’s Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Dumbledore stood to his feet and held out his hand. Taking it, Tom said, "I can speak to snakes. We both can. We found out when we’ve been to the country on trips—they find us, they whisper to us. Is that normal for a magical person?" 

Esmeralda knew he had withheld mention of their strangest power—though not the most dangerous ability either of them had—until that moment, determined to impress the professor. His damned pride would get them killed, she thought with a scowl. Everybody knew that the Devil took the form of a snake. Maybe their power didn’t come from Satan as Mrs. Cole had always said, but they’d had enough issues with the pious that Tom should have known to be more cautious. 

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore after a moment’s hesitation, "but not unheard of." His eyes moved curiously back and forth between the two orphans before he broke the handshake with Tom and moved to the door.

"Good-bye, Tom. Esmeralda. I shall see you both at Hogwarts." And then he was gone without ever offering to shake Esmeralda’s hand. 

"You shouldn’t have told him that. About the snakes," Esmeralda said quietly after a beat. 

Tom grimaced, silently agreeing though he would never admit fault out loud. "We have magic," he breathed, looking at her with bright eyes. The change of topic was a perfect distraction from his small blunder. 

"When should we go to Diagon Alley?" She was nearly bouncing with excitement, smiling brighter than the sun, and Tom grinned in response. 

"It’s still early. We should have plenty of time today." He could barely stand the thought of waiting.

Esmeralda nodded and reached out to take his hand. "Just think, Tom. A whole world of magic. We’re not alone."

For the first time, Tom’s smile faded. "I always knew we were different. I thought it made us special." It wasn’t really a question, but Esmeralda could hear the rare uncertainty in Tom’s voice, and she pulled him into a hug.

"You’ve got the kind of mind that the world only sees maybe once a century Tom. You’re a genius. Even without magic, you would never have been ordinary. Besides, you heard Dumbledore. Speaking to snakes is a rare ability," Esmeralda reassured her friend faithfully.

"You’r right," Tom relaxed, quickly regaining his normal arrogance. "And I bet your death touch is special too. We’re going to be great. The greatest sorcerers the world’s ever seen."

Well, no one could ever say Tom lacked ambition. Esmeralda smirked before lightly scolding, "Probably still shouldn’t tell more people about the snakes yet though. Or about my killing touch thing."

Tom just shrugged, moving towards the wardrobe and tossing Esmeralda her shoes. "Come on. I want to get our wands. And books. And then we need to figure out somewhere to pawn some of these gold coins."

"Why?"

"I think they may be worth more in the _muggle_ world than the magical one," Tom replied, sneering at the newly learned term for non-magical people. "Just one of these coins looks like it’s made of enough gold to be worth at least £10."

"We couldn’t get that kind of money working for a whole month in a factory!" Esmeralda exclaimed, eyes wide. 

"And it’s not even stealing," Tom said smugly. "I’m sure I can…convince the pawn shop to give us a fair value for the coins." 

"I wonder why the voice didn’t work on Dumbledore," Esmeralda mused as they exited the orphanage. 

"He’s a grown-up wizard, and he had a wand. He must have some kind of defense against that kind of thing."

"You don’t think all magical people are just immune?"

Tom thought about it for a second before shaking his head. "Maybe. But I bet there’re ways around any natural resistance magicals have."

"I hope so. It’s a dead useful skill," Esmeralda muttered, swinging their hands between them as they walked down the crowded London street. Tom straightened, pleased as he always was whenever Esmeralda complimented him. 

They continued on in companionable silence until they finally arrived at Charring Cross Station. "Do you see it anywhere? The Leaky Cauldron?"

"There!" Esmeralda pointed. She’d always been better at 'I Spy' than Tom. 

They hurried across the street and entered the magical establishment and were both momentarily taken aback by the shabbiness of the pub. Somehow, they’d thought that magic would have made the buildings nicer. 

"I bet that’s the bartender Dumbledore mentioned," Tom nodded at a man scrubbing a grubby looking mug. 

"I’ll just go ask him how to get into Diagon Alley then?" Esmeralda asked before walking away without waiting for a response. Tom held back, knowing Esmeralda was less likely to be questioned than he was. Tom was good at projecting innocence, but no one ever thought ill of pretty little girls with nice manners. It had gotten them out of quite a few tight spots before they’d mastered picking people’s pockets. People just didn’t suspect girls the same way they did boys.

"Excuse me," Esmeralda said sweetly, standing on her tiptoes to see over the high counter. She’d always been short for her age, unlike Tom who was the tallest boy in their grade.

"Yes? How can I help you sweetheart?" The bartender smiled kindly. He had very poor teeth, and Esmeralda could admit that she wouldn’t have wanted to share a name with him anymore than Tom did. 

"Can you show us the way to Diagon Alley?" she gestured back at Tom who was still waiting at the far end of the counter. 

"Are you muggleborn? Usually Hogwarts has a teacher escort new students for their first trip to Diagon."

"No," she answered impulsively. "We just, er well, we just haven’t come this way to Diagon Alley before."

"Your parents are letting you do your school shopping alone?"

Tom the barman seemed skeptical, so Esmeralda giggled and lowered her eyes demurely, shaking her head in the negative. "No!" She leaned in close and whispered like what she was saying was a grand secret, "Tom’s my _boyfriend_. We’re on a date! He’s gonna buy me an ice cream!"

The older man’s whole face softened, and he chuckled with good humor at the enthusiastic girl. "Give me just a mo’ and I’ll let you kids through the arch."

"Thanks mister!" Esmeralda beamed and skipped back over to link hands with her Tom. He smiled innocently back at her, though mirth danced in his burgundy brown eyes. He always loved watching Esmeralda con a mark. It was improvised moments like this that truly showcased his Esmeralda’s talent. 

Tom the barman spent another minute wiping down the counter before cheerfully waving for the two orphans to follow him. It was with no little awe that the children watched the shabby older man reveal the entrance to Britain’s magical district in the greatest display of magic they had ever seen. With just a few taps of his stubby little wand, the solid brick wall flowed away and an entire district, with charming cobblestones and brightly colored buildings, appeared. 

Tom and Esmeralda wandered through the archway in a kind of daze, eyes barely able to focus on one fantastical sight before another, even more incredible, stole their attention.


End file.
